Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. In doing so, he had to clamber up the immense heap of bricks and rubbish which now littered the floor, amounting almost to a car-load, and reaching up nearly to the top of the chimney-piece. My father thought the latter.
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